


Candles

by Kariki



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, M/M, Missing Persons, Old Traditions, Short One Shot, sentimentality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kariki/pseuds/Kariki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond disappears during a mission.  Q has no choice but to wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candles

On the 3rd of June, at 2300 hours, James Bond fell out of contact with MI6.

It wasn't an unusual thing to happen – not with any of the 00s but especially not with 007. In fact, missions were planned with idea that the agent would, at some point, randomly disappear – either by choice (destroying yet another bug meant to track them) or by force (someone else destroying the bug). An agent disappearing during the course of a mission was expected and almost guaranteed to happen.

But that didn't stop it from being extremely inconvenient.

Q's mouth tightened in annoyance as the (figurative) question marks filled his screen where the video feed of James Bond should have been. Bond's disappearance meant three things for Q – another late night in HQ, a massive headache, and another piece of equipment destroyed. There were times when Q suspected 007 of going offline purely so he could destroy thousands of pounds worth of technology without the guilt of witnesses. Of course, that would imply Bond felt guilt about destroying anything.

In this instance, the gadget, as the 00s liked to call them, was an explosive disguised as a silver hip flask. Bond had grinned devilishly as Q explained how to unlock the two chemicals hidden within, what surfaces the putty that the chemicals made could stick to, where the electric fuse was stashed and that, yes, it actually could still hold a decent amount of alcohol. Just in case, of course. And, as always, the briefing had ended with Q warning him that he would personally castrate him if the flask wasn't returned in, more or less, working order.

The flask, of course, had worked just as Q had promised. The office that needed to be demolished was left a mess of rubble and fire with Bond speeding away even as the first emergency calls were coming in. The mission was finished except for the getaway and, as far as escapes go, it was meant to be simple. 

The cameras of the building were on loop, the CCTVs were conveniently facing away as Bond's car approached, and every red light turned green as soon as Bond came within range.

There was no reason for Bond to suddenly drop off the radar.

Q pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. A throbbing was already starting just behind his eyes. He looked behind him at the half filled room, looking over the few Q branch staff that were monitoring the mission. He quickly singled out an intern who had lingered at their desk after their brief role in the mission was done and sent them off to start making a few pots of coffee and tea for everyone else.

Whatever Bond has gotten himself into it, it would be best if Q started with the extra caffeine now.

~

It wasn't until mid August that Q started to notice that the staff – the scientists, the interns, the agents, everyone really – were starting to treat him different. 

Q's relationship with Bond was far from a secret – neither of them saw the point in trying to hide their... whatever it was. It was also no secret that both Q and 007 considered their Whatever It Was to be secondary. 

MI6 came first.

Always. 

The job came first, would always come first, and everything else would always take the backseat.

But to Q, it seemed that the entire Q branch had forgotten that small but important fact.

The interns edged around him, walking softly, their eyes averts as though Q could shatter at any moment if put under even the slightest bit of pressure. Instead of approaching him with work details, blueprints, and schematics, they came to him offering him help for the most inane things: 'You want anything from the canteen? Cuppa maybe? Or a sandwich?' or even 'I can test out the new explosives, if you like'. As though Q shouldn't have to do even the most basic of tasks. 

The kindness was like an assault. It was the kind of kindness people used to disguise pity when someone's loved one had died. It would have been infuriating at the best of times but it was especially infuriating now since no one was dead.

Finally, he was sent home early one day when he made one of the interns cry for daring to bring him a cup of Earl Grey exactly how he liked it without Q having to ask for it first.

~

The candle was a simple white column with a small LED light made to mimic the flickering of fire. It even had a trail of fake, plastic wax dripping down the side. Q had seen it in the charity shop and even now wasn't entirely sure why he had bought it but now it sat on the table in front of the window. Every time Q would walk into his flat, the candle would be the first thing he saw. 

It would be the first thing anyone who came in saw. 

The candle looked like something Ebenezer Scrooge would have by his bedside table and so looked out of place in the modern flat with it's modern furniture and architecture but Q liked it. The soft flickering light was somehow soothing to his rattling nerves and it made him think of the stories Gran used to tell him.

He might be a man of science but even he could admit that sentimentality and even superstitions had their place. Perhaps the small, fake candle couldn't lead anyone home – especially not someone who was last seen on the other side of the planet – but then again, the candles weren't for those who were lost but for those who had to wait.

~

Q suspected he shouldn't have let Eve in when she turned up at his flat with a bottle of expensive wine and cheap Thai takeout.

“I like the candles,” she said lightly, nodding to the array of LED candles that now lined each window. “Very cozy.” 

“Is it?” Q asked, keeping his tone light as he moved his noodles from one side of the carton to the other with his fork. “I hadn't noticed.”

Eve set her carton down and turned to face Q, propping her elbow on the back of the couch.

“My mother would cook,” she announced, smiling slightly as she looked Q over.

“...Okay?” He looked up at her through his lashes, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. 

“My father was in the Navy. Every time he was dispatched, she'd cook.” Eve shrugged.  
“Every Sunday dinner was three course meal with our choice of desert. We could never eat it all and always ended up inviting the neighbors just so the fridge wouldn't be overflowing.” She took a sip of her wine, smiling around the glass. “People deal with worry differently, Q.”

“What makes you think I'm worried?” Q scoffed, dropping his fork into the carton and setting it down on the table in front of him. “I'm not worried.”

“Yeah because that was convincing.” She smirked. “He'll be back, Q. Bond's one of the best agents we've got.”

Q didn't say anything for a few moments. His green eyes wandered over the candlelit apartment.

The one candle had changed into two, the two into four, four to eight. The candles had multiplied so dramatically that he wasn't even sure how many he had now. Enough to be considered a fire hazard if they had been real candles – he wasn't even sure if these LED ones didn't count as a fire hazard, now that he thought of it.

“Thank you,” he finally said, voice soft. He looked up at the ex-field agent and offered her a small smile. “And thank you for saying that I'm just worried instead of in mourning.”

Eve nodded and reached over to pat his hand.

“If you don't mind me asking,” she started, picking up her food once again. “Why candles?”

“Why not candles?”

“Well-” She thought for a moment, looking toward the nearest window with it's line of lights. “Mum cooked because it was something to do. It was like... like she was getting everything ready, that everything was perfectly normal. And yeah, she'd go a bit too far but it was something...”

Q nodded, leaning back into the soft cushions of his couch.

“I...” He sighed and pulled off his glasses, looked at them a moment, then put them back on. “My Gran used to tell me stories... of World War II and how, when Grandad was off fighting, she would keep the lights on for him. She told me... that the light was suppose to guide him home. Whether it was him or his spirit, the light would always be there for him, to let him know she was waiting for him to come home.”

Q shook his head.

“It just came to me one day, when I was looking through a charity shop and saw that candle.” He nodded toward the very first candle, still on the table across from the front door. “And I just thought... I thought...”

“What the hell?” Eve supplied for him, smiling.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “What the hell.”

~

The next day was the first of October and there was a small, vanilla scented candle waiting on Q's desk. 

In Eve's neat script was the short message:

_I thought your office needed a bit of light as well. Just in case. - E_

~

The quilt that now covered Q's bed had been made by his Gran and it was possibly one of the ugliest things in London. Made from left over fabric, it was a clash of different shades of reds, pinks, greens, and blues arranged in a checkered pattern in an attempt to make the colors seem intentional. 

It really was a hideous monstrosity but it was also the warmest, softest quilt Q had ever owned. Thankfully, it didn't look so garish in the candlelight – the dim light making the colors match better than they should have – and it smelled of the cedar chest it had been stored in.

The candles in the bedroom were real, unlike the rest in the apartment, but only one was currently lit. It stood on Q's dresser, reflecting it's light back out into the room and onto Q.

“That is still the ugliest quilt I've ever seen.” Q smiled as the bed creaked and dipped as Bond sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. 

“My Gran made this for me.” Q opened his eyes and looked up at the blurry figure of 007. He could see the bruises from here. “And if you went to HQ first before seeing me, I'll kill you.”

Bond grinned. “Have I been gone that long?”

“Long enough.” Q reached up and grabbed Bond's shirt collar, pulling him down onto the bed. He crushed his lips against Bond's and tasted the blood still on the agent's split lip. They parted with a gasp. 

“Far too long.” Q panted softly against Bond's lips. “You better have a damn good excuse for it.”

“Of course.” Bond's lips brushed against Q's as he spoke. “Why don't you light some of these candles and I tell you?”

“How about I light the candles-” Q pressed to Bond's lips. “-and we don't talk until morning?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still not entirely sure if the tradition of keeping a light on/candle in the window for loved ones who are off to war is a thing in the UK but I found the thought of Q keeping a candle or two (or fifty) lit for Bond too endearing to pass up.


End file.
